And face going to prison, he amended bitterly. Whatever happened, Matthew Webster would demand his pound of flesh. Even if Carl was mollified by getting his property back-which he doubted-there was still the problem of the South American contract. He could expect no help from Carl. He'd tried to defraud the man, and Carl Walker didn't forgive that sort of thing. If he got away with his life, he'd consider himself lucky. A life sentence was probably more than he deserved.

So, was he committed to going on with this? He shook his head. What alternatives did he have? If only he knew what his brother was saying. There was only one person who might help him find out.

10.

They left for Fairings on Friday afternoon.

Caitlin was driving-her own hatchback, not the flashy Cosworth that Nathan had left parked in the underground garage. She'd half expected him to object when she drove the Corrado out into the watery autumn sunshine, but of course he didn't know what he usually drove.

Besides, they were hardly speaking to one another. Since he'd arrived back at the flat on Wednesday afternoon, their relationship seemed to have gone from bad to worse. But Caitlin had been nearly out of her mind with worry, and it didn't help when Nathan behaved as if nothing was wrong.

When he hadn't returned by three o'clock, she'd even considered contacting her father again and asking him if he thought she should call the police. After all, Nathan was missing. And he probably shouldn't have been allowed to go out on his own in the first place.

But the knowledge that her father would blame her for Nathan's disappearance had prevented her from asking for his help. And, in the event, her husband had arrived back, apparently none the worse for wear. He'd merely offered an excuse about forgetting the time, and his assertion that he remembered the city was little compensation in the circumstances.

Consequently, she hadn't been entirely able to prevent her anger at his thoughtlessness from showing, and their stilted exchange had swiftly deteriorated into an uneasy silence. She'd justified her anxiety by the fact that Nathan was still on medication, and as far as she knew, he'd had nothing to eat all day.

She couldn't help it if he had been disappointed when she'd dashed his hopes about the army. It wasn't her fault that he'd got it wrong. For heaven's sake, if he didn't want to hear the truth, he shouldn't ask her. It was no use telling him lies just to make him feel good.

An uneasy supper had followed. Mrs Spriggs had prepared a chicken casserole before she left, and Caitlin had served it with pasta. But Nathan had only picked at his food, despite her careful admonitions, and he'd eventually admitted he'd bought a burger with a ten-pound note he'd found in his jacket pocket.

The news had infuriated Caitlin. The knowledge that while she had been frantic with worry, he'd been sitting in some fast-food restaurant, stuffing himself with cholesterol, brought a resentful lump to her throat. Though why had she expected anything different? she wondered, digging her fork with some fury into her food. Nathan had never considered her feelings. Ever. Losing his memory was unlikely to alter that.

He left her alone after supper. He made some remark about needing the bathroom, and Caitlin spent another fretful couple of hours waiting for him to come back. When he didn't return, and despite her better judgment, she felt obliged to go and check on him, she discovered he was fast asleep on his bed, still fully clothed.

Exhaustion had evidently got the better of him, and she'd stood there for some time, wondering if she ought to try and take off his clothes. But the fear that he might awake while she was doing it made her cautious. Although she couldn't deny the unwilling tug of compassion he aroused in her, she had no desire for him to get the wrong idea.

She contented herself with removing his shoes and throwing a blanket over him. At least she could be sure he wouldn't take a chill. He didn't stir; he seemed to be sleeping like a baby. And in spite of everything that had gone before, she was relieved.

On Thursday morning, Caitlin received a phone call from a neurologist whom her father had apparently asked to take over Nathan's treatment. He wanted to arrange an appointment for her husband at his clinic, and although her father had said nothing about it to her, Caitlin made a provisional booking for the following week.

But she resented the fact that once again her father should have chosen to interfere in her life. All right, so Henrik Neilson was a friend of his, and the man had contacted her himself instead of leaving his secretary to do it; nevertheless, it was an intrusion. Her father had no right to try and run their lives. Besides, Nathan had his own doctor. And as he apparently didn't need any further treatment, what did Neilson hope to do?

Nathan himself hadn't been around when she took the call. It was still fairly early, and so far as she knew, he was still in bed. She got something of a shock, therefore, when she heard someone coming into the flat. It was too early for Mrs Spriggs, and the sight of her husband in a dark blue jogging outfit brought an unwelcome awareness to her bones. His dark hair was damp and sweaty, and he exuded a distinctive aroma of cool air, heated skin and raw masculinity. A cocktail she was not as capable of dismissing as she should, she thought tensely.

In consequence, her voice was sharp as she challenged him. "Where have you been?" she demanded, forgetting that the night before she had determined not to get involved in what he did. He obviously didn't need her concern, and she could do without the hassle. If he chose to take risks with his health, it was nothing to do with her.

"Running," he replied after a moment, and she guessed he'd been tempted to mock her words. "Do I need your permission to leave the apartment? I borrowed your keys and locked the door. You'd left them lying on the table."

Caitlin didn't trust herself to answer him. Right now, he seemed too aggressive to provoke. But she couldn't help wondering when he'd decided to take up physical exercise. Was that why she'd thought he'd lost some weight?

He said nothing about her entering his room the night before, and neither did she. Instead, he went to take a shower, and Caitlin went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She was glad now that she'd chosen to dress before leaving her room. She didn't know why, but she suddenly felt vulnerable when Nathan was around.

It was over breakfast that she mentioned Henrik Neil-son's phone call. She had been reluctant to do so, but in the event, Nathan seemed undisturbed. "I guess your old man doesn't trust me, either," he remarked, helping himself to another cup of coffee. "What's the old guy afraid of? Does he think I might make off with his hard-earned loot?"

"Of course not." Caitlin didn't like remarks like that, even if they were justified. "Dr Harper himself said you should check in with a doctor."

"He said he'd send all my medical records to my own doctor," Nathan corrected her drily. "He didn't say anything about needing a specialist on my case." He shrugged. "Hey-if that's what your old man wants, then so be it. If anyone can do anything to help me, then I'm game."

Caitlin pressed her lips together. "My father is very-protective."

"Yeah. Right." Nathan regarded her with a studied gaze. "Did he tell you not to go to bed with me until he'd checked me out?"

"No." Caitlin was horrified, and she looked it. "I- think-we just need-"

"Some more time," finished Nathan sardonically. "Yeah, I've heard that one before. I just wish you'd tell me what's going on."

There was no answer to that, and Caitlin made an excuse of going to refill the coffeepot to leave the table. The trouble was, she was having difficulty in dealing with the present situation herself. Despite all that she knew of him, she was attracted to him. She was afraid of herself, afraid it would be fatally easy to succumb.

The morning had passed fairly uneventfully, with Mrs Spriggs providing a welcome buffer between them. It wasn't .until Caitlin's father rang in the early afternoon that she remembered she hadn't given Nathan his message, and by then, her husband was resting on his bed.

"You'll see him tomorrow, Daddy," she protested when Matthew Webster exhorted her to go and wake him up. "Besides, I don't know what you expect him to say to you. So far as he's concerned, he doesn't even remember your name."

"We'll see," responded her father enigmatically, revealing that Nathan hadn't been far wrong in his estimate of why the older man had chosen to contact the Harley Street physician. But at least it had enabled her to turn the tables on him. He'd rung off with her resentment ringing in his ears.

This morning, she'd made sure Nathan was still in bed when she'd left the flat. Deciding there was no point in trying to wet-nurse him, she'd left a message for Mrs Spriggs that she had gone to the shop. It was running away, and she knew it, but she needed an objective viewpoint. At least Janie understood what was going on.

And it was so good to see her friend again. After exchanging hugs, the two young women had sat down to share a mug of coffee together, Janie turning the sign on the door to Closed so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"So-what's happening?" she asked when Caitlin showed no inclination to offer an explanation. "Aren't you going to Fairings for the weekend after all?"

"No. That is-yes, yes, we are," said Caitlin confusingly, cradling her mug of coffee between her palms. "But- I just felt like coming to see you." She bit her lip. "It seems ages since I was here."

"Don't I know it?" Janie's response was fervent. "But I thought you couldn't leave Nathan on his own."

"I-I didn't say that exactly." Caitlin wasn't sure how far to take this. "Oh-if you must know, he has been out on his own."

"Out?" Janie stared at her. "You mean-as in driving his car? Oh, Cat, is that wise? Are you sure he still understands the rules of the road? He is an American, when all's said and done."

Caitlin regarded her dourly. "Did I say in his car?" she protested. "No-I mean he's been out walking. And running, too, yesterday morning."

"Running!" Janie stared at her. "Since when did Nathan exercise his bulk?"

"Since-I don't know." Caitlin was discomforted. "But it's obvious he's not unused to doing it. And-and he's lost some weight, as well. He looks quite-thin."

"Thin?" Patently, Janie didn't believe her. "Are you sure we're talking about the same person, Cat? Your husband likes his liquid lunches too well to ever be called-thin."

Caitlin could feel her colour rising. "Well, I can't help that. It's happened. He's-changed. I told you that." And at Janie's arching brows, "He has!"

Janie frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you sounded as if you admired him for it. Why have you really come here, Cat? Are you trying to tell me you've changed your mind about the divorce?"

"No." Caitlin was indignant, but her colour didn't subside. "I just wish that you could see him for yourself."

"Why?"

"Why?" Caitlin found it difficult to say. "I don't know. He's just so-different, as I say."

"Different?" Janie regarded her speculatively. "Okay. So you say he's lost weight, and he's not abused you like he used to do, and you're feeling sorry for him, right?"

"Right." Caitlin could live with that.

"But you're not attracted to him, are you?"

"No. That is..." Caitlin could feel Janie's eyes upon her. "It's not that simple, Janie. Sometimes I don't know what I feel myself."

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Janie exploded. "Must I remind you that this is the man who brutalised you on your honeymoon and has been keeping another woman for the past God knows how many years? The man's a parasite, Caitlin. I thought you understood that. Just because he's feeling sorry for himself now, don't let him make a fool of you again."

"I don't intend to," exclaimed Caitlin defensively, but the truth was, she'd never felt so unsure. She was overwhelmingly grateful when a customer tapped on the door with an inquiry, and Janie was forced to assume her business face.

The woman asked about a nineteenth-century Tiffany lamp that was displayed in the window, and Janie was too professional a dealer not to treat the inquiry seriously. It gave Caitlin the time she needed to finish off her coffee, and by the time the woman was ready to leave, so was she.

She knew Janie wasn't pleased with her, but there wasn't time to say much more than, "Have a good weekend." But their conversation wasn't over; Janie's wry expression promised that, and Caitlin fretted about what she hadn't said all the way home.

Lunch was an omelette and salad, prepared without too much effort and eaten in much the same way. Nathan acknowledged her reappearance, but he didn't ask about her morning, and after the meal was over, Caitlin went to pack.

She used two suitcases, one for herself and one for Nathan. If she'd been concerned that he might come into his bedroom while she was organising his clothes, she needn't have worried. He was lounging on the sofa in the living room when she emerged, one ankle propped across his knee.

"Ready?" she asked, attempting to behave naturally, and Nathan gave a careless shrug of his shoulders.

"As I'll ever be, I guess," he responded, getting sinuously to his feet, and she was unhappily aware that her emotions were still not under control. The trouble was, she couldn't remember ever being so aware of him before, and his lean, powerful body made her feel weak.

It crossed her mind, as they set off, that her father would find a difference in him, and he was unlikely to approve of the jeans and the bulky sweater he was wearing today. In fact, she doubted her father had seen Nathan in anything other than a suit or well-cut casual trousers and a cashmere jacket. Until recently, she'd have said the same of herself.

His hair, too, would be another source of irritation. Although it was clean, her father would think it was far too long. A swift glance reminded her of how sleekly and smoothly it lay against his scalp, but the urge to run her fingers through its silky darkness was swiftly suppressed.

Besides, as they passed the Paddington Basin, heading towards the junction of the M40, she realised there were more important things to worry about than Nathan's appearance. What would he do if his memory never returned, for instance? How could he work for Webster Development if he couldn't even remember what he did?

Obviously, her father was going to find it very hard to cope with. Never a patient man, in recent years Matthew Webster had become irascible at best. In one of their few conversations in recent months, Nathan had implied that he was being made a scapegoat by her father. Ever since Marshall O'Brien had joined the firm, Nathan's authority was constantly being challenged.

And, in this instance, Caitlin had had to agree with him. Never a fan of Marshall's herself, she could quite see how his attitude might aggravate the other man. It aggravated her, for heaven's sake, reminding her of what she had once aspired to. Marshall was always there at her father's side, like some Machiavellian skeleton at the feast.

It had got to such a point that even she had begun to feel resentful. It was as if her father couldn't make his own decisions any more. What power did Marshall hold that her father should always defer to him? It wasn't as if he'd worked for the company that long.

Sometimes, Caitlin had wondered if there was something her father was keeping from them. Just occasionally, when she'd caught Marshall watching her, she'd wondered if his role wasn't mainly that of a spy. Certainly, his familiarity with her father was suspicious; Matthew Webster had never let anyone get that close before.

Whatever, Marshall's appointment, just a few months after her father's heart attack, had infuriated Nathan. She knew her husband had been expecting her father to retire, but instead, he'd installed a stranger in his place. The won-der was that no one else had voiced their disapproval. After all, Marshall had had little experience in that field.

Of course, he didn't run the company single-handedly. Even before he'd returned to his desk, Matthew Webster had been the guiding force behind any decisions he had made. For all her father had been warned to take things easier in the future, he had gradually resumed his authority, with Marshall at his side-in Nathan's place...

"How far is it?"

Nathan's question interrupted her troubled thoughts, and she turned to him with some relief. The idea that her father might use Nathan's disability to get him out of the company should have pleased her. If he was becoming disillusioned with her husband, she might soon be free.

"Um-not too far," she answered now, her hands tightening on the wheel. "The house is in Buckinghamshire. Not far from High Wycombe. We should be there in a little less than an hour."

Nathan frowned. "Buckinghamshire," he said, pronouncing every syllable. "That's what you call a county, is that right?"

"Right." Caitlin caught her lower lip between her teeth. "It's good to know you haven't forgotten your geography. Do you remember Brook's End?"

"Brook's End?"

Clearly, he didn't, and forcing herself to speak casually, Caitlin explained. "That's the name of the village where my parents' house is situated. I told you about Fairings, didn't I? That's the-"

"Name of the house," he finished drily. "Yes, I remember that. Despite what you think, I'm not totally goofy. I remember most of what you've told me since that accident. If only I could remember what came before."

Caitlin sighed. "You will," she said comfortingly, and sensed the frustrated look he cast her way.

"Will I?" he countered sardonically. "Well, hey, that's reassuring. But, you know, I get the feeling you don't really care."

"That's not true!"

Caitlin was indignant, but Nathan merely slumped farther into his seat. "You have no idea what it's like," he said, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. "I seem to have an enormous void where my memory used to be."

Caitlin swallowed. "I know it must be hard-"

"Oh, it is. Bloody hard," he told her harshly. "And it's a damn sight harder when you've got no one to support you." His lips twisted. "I wouldn't want to upset you, but I'm gradually getting the feeling that you'd have been happier if I hadn't made it back."

"That's not true."

Caitlin was horrified now, but Nathan didn't appear convinced by her denial. "No?" he taunted softly. "When we don't appear to have a life together? For Christ's sake, Kate, we even sleep in separate rooms."

"Lots of people sleep in separate rooms," responded Caitlin defensively. "And in the circumstances, I really think it's for the best."

"The best for whom?" asked Nathan scornfully. "For you-because you don't trust me? Or because you'll do any damn thing to ensure we're never alone?"

Caitlin caught her breath. "We're often alone," she protested. "We're alone now."

"In a car? On a busy road?" Nathan gave her an impatient stare. "I meant in intimate circumstances. You know what I mean."

Caitlin licked her lips. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

"Don't you?" His expression mocked her. "Would you like me to draw you a picture instead?" His fingers brushed her arm. "You might enjoy it. Or shall I just tell you what I think we'd do in bed?"

A wave of heat swept over her body, moistening her palms and causing little rivulets of awareness to spread to every extremity. If she'd been standing, she was sure her knees would have shaken. As it was, her foot pressed a little jerkily on the pedal.

"Watch it!" he snapped suddenly, and she realised she'd been accelerating up to the back of a furniture lorry instead of moving into the overtaking lane.

But dammit, she thought, she wasn't used to anyone making those kinds of insinuations to her, and her nerves were already stretched beyond belief.

There was silence for a while after that, and she was beginning to hope he had forgotten their conversation until he spoke again. "I guess it was easy to fool me while I was in the hospital," he ventured wryly, "when you didn't have to prove the way you felt. But since we got back to England, you've avoided any explanation, and you run a mile every time I get too close."